


you're not actually dead, it's just a metaphor

by loherangrin



Series: the news of my death have been greatly exaggerated [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Related, Control Issues, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Introspection, anger management issues, but not compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loherangrin/pseuds/loherangrin
Summary: Hawkins, Starcourt Mall, 4th of July of 1985. Billy Hargrove has a two-letter word to say to death, and the word is a resoluteno.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Series: the news of my death have been greatly exaggerated [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983277
Kudos: 7





	you're not actually dead, it's just a metaphor

**Author's Note:**

> started out "crack fic in which Billy says no to the grim reaper and comes back to life purely out of spite" turned "plot with feelings" in about 6 minutes. I'm emotionally attached, okay?
> 
> title is from Supernova, Marcus Alexander  
> series title is from that Mark Twain misquote
> 
> **!!!!!** there are, like, 4 swear words in this

Billy doesn’t have much faith. In ― in God, or whatever. He used to, before. When his mother was around and he still held onto hope that things could be better, when he was _happy_. Like the light that left his eyes the day his mother left, hope and faith, too, picked up their things and never looked back.

Sometimes, in few and far between moments, Billy thought he’d get those back. That one time Maxine snorted out loud at his complaining and he didn’t get mad like he thought he would. That weekened dad and Susan weren’t home, and she was happy enough with just having a ride to the arcade, didn’t bother him once; he can’t remember, but they might have only had leftover pizza to eat. The camaro ― driving the camaro has always made him... Not happy, per se. But calmer. Speeding, even through the streets of Shithole, Middle of Nowhere, has been a sure way to get his blood pumping, to quiet down the angry energy always thrumming underneath his skin without resorting to violence.

He had forgotten those moments. Those few and far between moments. Had forgotten the sight of mom. The waves. Her smile and her yellow sandals. He was happy, then. He was _hopeful_.

It’s hard to be hopeful when you’re about to die. _I don’t understand. I don’t understand_. Mostly, Billy is scared. Scared of what he did, of what _it_ made him do, scared that this will be all for nothing and the girl, the girl with the curly hair and big doe eyes who brought something from within him back to light, back to life ― he’s scared that she’s going to die. If she dies, they all die. Mad Max dies. (He dies. He dies, and he never gets to make things right. He wants‒

He _wants_. To live and love and fuck, and find, find whatever it is that he’s been desperately searching for. He wants to bask in the sun, wants to see the ocean back in Cali once more, he wants to make things right, to _apologize_. It was working, wasn’t it? Saving up for the trip, saving up for the uncertain future he craved more than anything else. Max had been hopeful, then. She had been _happy_. And for once, for once the sight of her smile didn’t make him angry, didn’t make him jealous, didn’t make him feel _wrong_. It wasn’t the white hot rage that made him want to lash out and break things. It was only... It was only warm.)

Mostly, Billy is angry. _It isn’t fair_. Nothing about life has ever been. He hurts, so he hurts others; used to, at least. Respect and responsibility, because that’s what his father always says. _It wasn’t me_. It’s such bullshit ― everything, everything about this. Monsters. The other world. The _thing_. Heather, _fuck_ , Heather wanted to help. All those people, the old lady, the _kid_. _It isn’t fair_. And now, what? He dies? He fucking, he fucking goes and dies? He barely knew what was happening most of the time. The anger then hadn’t been his, the _violence_ then hadn’t been this ― he didn’t _do_ this. Did... Did he?

(He hadn’t _wanted_ to. His friend, his only friend in this horrible town, her entire _family_ , and Billy‒

Billy _let it happen_. Couldn’t fight the shadow, couldn’t fight the monster. She was worried, she wanted to help, and Billy said‒

He said _hold still_ , he said _it will be over soon_. Is this how Heather felt, then? Terrified? Angry? Or was she just confused? They had been friends. _They had been friends_.)

He didn’t want to. _He didn’t want to_. And he’s tired of it, he’s tired of being pulled and pushed, of this, of never having a a say, of never having a _choice_. (He’s tired of picking the wrong choice, of saying the wrong thing when he can, when it matters.)

So, this time, this time he’s going to do it right. This time he’ll plant his feet, draw a charge. This time, Billy Hargrove has a two-letter word to say to his monster, to say to death, and the word is a resolute _no_.

_No_ , he won’t let this happen. _No_ , he’s not giving up, he refuses to. _No_ , he’s not going to die. _No_ , not anymore, no more laying down and taking it, no more being afraid.

(In the chance that, like many times before, it won’t matter, he still apologizes to Max.)


End file.
